


You're my idiot

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But no actual Cas/Sam promise, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Dean has a low opinion of himself, Dean has a secret, Dean thinks Sam and Cas have a secret, Implied Castiel/Sam Winchester, M/M, they really don't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's got secrets, right? The problem is that Dean thinks that he knows Sam and Cas's secret, and he's really wrong.</p>
<p>Written for the prompt: Dean/Cas, Keeping a secret. Original posted on my <a href="http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com/post/86693025965/dean-cas-53">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're my idiot

If there’s one lesson that Team Free Will never seems to have learned over the years, it’s that keeping secrets from each other is a thoroughly Bad Thing.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, Dean knows this, but when it comes to Cas, he figures it’s best to keep it to himself.

It’s not like Cas would want—

And really, what’s Dean anyway? A high school dropout. Yeah, okay, he’s got a GED, but what’s that compared to the experiences Cas has had? To the millennia of examining humanity, of hanging out up in Heaven with the likes of Aristotle and Sun Tzu?

How can Dean Winchester, who has the Impala, some good vinyl and a penchant for singing badly to classic rock possibly measure up?

So yeah, best to keep this to himself. Because nothing’s going to come of these…  feelings… that Dean has. So no point in doing anything about it. Right?

Of course, once that decision is made, Dean’s brain acts like it didn’t get the memo. Back to Cas, all the time. Thoughts about the tiny little smiles that Cas lets escape. To the stubble that he can never seem to get rid of, to those stupid crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

Dean stares, even though he shouldn’t. His eyes travel up and down Cas’s body in ways that a guy just doesn’t do to his best friend.

Bad Dean.

The thing is, recently, it’s become clear that Dean’s not the only one keeping a secret.

The last few times he’s walked into the library, Sam and Cas have been seated, heads tipped together. Their conversation stops abruptly when Dean appears. Every time.

After the fourth time this happens, Dean beats a hasty retreat to his room to think about what he’s seen.

Cas, his eyes wide with alarm, his cheeks tinged with red. Sam shifting in his chair like the seat’s riddled with splinters.

Whatever Dean keeps interrupting, it’s… well, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t think that Sam and Cas’s secret is at all compatible with his own.

Dean’s sleep that night is interrupted by disturbing dreams. Sam and Cas laughing at him behind his back. To his face. Cas somehow finding out about Dean’s feelings and looking horrified at the very notion. Cas and Sam wearing matching WW2 officer uniforms while Dean struggles along behind, dragging what feels like a two ton weight. Sam and Cas kissing in the library.

Dean wakes in a cold sweat, an aborted shout of denial on his lips. He scrubs his face and groans.

Ridiculous.

That’s what this whole thing is. If Cas and Sammy are… well, whatever they have together Dean’s certainly not going to get in the way.

He’ll let Sam know.

Right after he gets stinking drunk.

* * *

 

The thing is that it’s actually quite difficult to get drunk at 9 o’clock on a Wednesday morning. They need to do a supply run, have really needed to for several days, actually. There’s almost no alcohol in the bunker, and no liquor stores are open yet.

Dean bangs around the kitchen, opening every cabinet, only to slam them shut when no alcohol miraculously appears.

"Dean?" Sam’s standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "What’re you doing?"

Dean takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Trying to remind himself that Sam’s not at fault here, that Sam can’t help his own feelings and certainly doesn’t have control over Dean’s, Dean plasters on the biggest, fakest smile he can. He’s always been good at the fake it ‘til ya make it thing.

"Just checking to see what we need to buy. We’re out of a lot of stuff."

Sam gives Dean a look like he doesn’t believe him, and brushes past him. “You were taking it out awful hard on the cabinets, dude.”

Dean shrugs. “You want breakfast?”

Sam frowns. “I thought you just said we were out of stuff.”

"Yeah, but I can still make you some eggs."

"Dean," Sam begins, but Dean interrupts him.

"It’s okay you know," he blurts out. "If you and Cas are…" Dean waves his hand. He hadn’t meant to go there, but it’d been bubbling beneath the surface since he woken up, and no amount of slamming cabinet doors was going to make this conversation any easier. As long as Sam and Cas are happy. That’s all that matters.

"What?" Sam asks.

"I don’t care, you know. I mean." Dean pauses. "I just want you to be happy. Both of you. So. You know, if you and Cas are together, that’s. That’s good." He falters at the end, his voice trailing off, and he knows he wasn’t able to sell it. No way did Sam believe him, hell Dean certainly didn’t believe it when it came out of his mouth.

"Cas and me," Sam says. His face twists. "Uh huh. And, what exactly do you think is going on with me and Cas, Dean?"

Dean throws his hands up in the air, already frustrated and ten kinds of done with this conversation. At this point he just wants to go back to his room and crawl under the covers. Maybe if he stays in there for a year or two he’ll get over this, and then he can be a normal guy again. No having to worry about being in love with his best friend when his best friend’s in love with his brother.

Also. When the hell did his life turn into a soap opera?

"You and Cas, Sam. I know, ok? I know that you and Cas have this thing, and it’s totally fine, I mean, you’re both nerds, and you do that nerdy thing together, so you’ll have lots to talk about, and I want you to be ha—"

"Dean you are such an idiot sometimes, you know that?" Sam says. He settles into one of the chairs at the table. "Sit down, man."

"What? No, I have to go—" Dean points over his shoulder, but Sam won’t be deterred.

"Dean, sit down, dammit."

Dean’s down in the seat before he’s aware of even moving. He keeps his eyes on the table, noting the scratches in the wood, and the spots where the varnish is rubbed clean away. 

"Look, I don’t know what you thought you saw, but Cas and I are not…  _that_. Cas and I are friends, and that’s it. He’s the best friend we have, you know that?”

Dean nods, because Sam’s right, of course. Cas is the best. Cas is the best friend, and possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to Dean. He can be happy with things the way they are… wait.

"What?" Dean asks. "You and Cas aren’t…"

Sam rolls his eyes. Dean idly wonders if one day Sam’s going to roll his eyes so hard they’re going to fall out of his head. “No, Dean.”

"So then… why do you guys stop talking every time I come into the room?"

"Because we were talking about you, Dean." But it’s not Sam who’s answered. Instead, the answer comes from behind Dean, from the doorway to the kitchen, where Cas stands in his sweatpants and t-shirt. His hair’s a mess, and all Dean wants to do is run his fingers through that hair and pull Cas close. All Dean wants is to be able to touch Cas, just once. That’ll be enough. (No. It won’t. It will never be enough.)

Cas sits next to Dean and nods at Sam, who claps Dean on the shoulder and leaves the two of them alone in the kitchen. Dean feels like he’s the only one who didn’t get the script for this particular drama.

Cas looks at Dean for a long while before saying anything, his blue eyes wandering over Dean’s face. He takes in the bags under Dean’s eyes and the paleness of Dean’s skin tone under his freckles.

"You didn’t sleep well last night," Cas says. Dean shakes his head with a jerk. "Why not?" Cas cups Dean’s cheek with one palm, and Dean tries not to lean into it. He fails.

Dean licks his lips. “Uh. Weird dreams.”

Cas hums. “Dean,” he says, but rather than finishing his sentence, he leans forward and kisses Dean. Cas’s lips are warm and soft, and Dean falls. He falls into the kiss, he falls into Cas and for once he doesn’t let his brain stop him from having something - maybe the one thing - that he wants.

They pull apart after a long moment, and Dean realizes one hand is rubbing small circles into Cas’s thigh while the other has a death grip on Cas’s bicep. He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Cas huffs a laugh. “Never be sorry when your hands are on me like this.”

"Oh." Because Dean can’t believe his luck, and is convinced that this is a one-off, he kisses Cas again, a little desperately. "So, you and Sam…"

"He told me I should do this," Cas replies, kissing along Dean’s jawline. His fingers trail lightly up the nape of Dean’s neck. 

"Oh," Dean says again. "I’m kind of an idiot."

"Yes, but you’re my idiot," Cas says, and then they don’t say much of anything for a long while.


End file.
